


Purgatory

by smileybagel



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Groundhog Day AU, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileybagel/pseuds/smileybagel
Summary: Five times the Deputy fails, and the one time she doesn't."The first time the Deputy dies, it's with a cry, a curse, and Sharky's hand grasping hers, telling herjust hold on Dep, y'hear? Don't die on me, c'mon now, girl."





	Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time since I've written anything substantial. I hope it's okay.

1)  
  
The first time the Deputy dies, it's with a cry, a curse, and Sharky's hand grasping hers, telling her _just hold on Dep, y'hear? Don't die on me, c'mon now, girl._ Boomer trots up to her and licks her face and whines before everything goes to black.  
  
She wakes up, chest heaving as she tries to breathe, safe and alone in her apartment, the insistent blaring of her alarm clock going off in her ear. Rook trembles and slams her hand down on the clock, silencing it before she races to the bathroom to vomit. Once her stomach is empty of whatever was left from the night before, she takes stock of just what the fuck is happening, eyes wide and tear staining her cheeks before she washes them away with cool water from the sink. Rook takes a moment, trying to wrap her head around it, around her death. She can still feel the sharp sting of bullets in her chest and the tightness in her lungs as they collapsed.  
  
But here she is. Staring into the mirror of her bathroom, bullet-free, safe, _alive_. The Deputy pulls her night shirt up and over her head just to make sure, but all that stares back at her is the smooth expanse of her skin, unmarred save for old scars and a tattoo over her ribs. No bullet holes, no gashes from the Judges, none of John's knife marks, nothing from Faith's Angels.  
  
Her phone rings, nearly making her jump out of her skin, and she wants to cry when she makes it back to her nightstand and sees _Hope County Jail_ across the caller ID.  
  
_"Rook, it's Whitehorse. There's a US Marshal here with an arrest warrant for Seed. I keep tellin' him it's a bad idea, but this guy is determined. Meet us at the jail in a hour, Nancy's got a chopper ready to take us to the compound. This is a big mission and I want you on the team."_  
  
With her heart in her throat, Rook washes the sweat from her skin in an ice-cold shower and dresses in her uniform. The gun on her hip feels heavier than it should, and her badge feels like it might burn through her clothing.  
  
2)  
  
Rook doesn't even make it to Dutch's bunker this time. Hell, she barely makes it to the ground.  
  
_"God will not let you take me."_  
  
He's right, he's right, he's _fucking right_ Rook wants to scream as the helicopter begins its rapid descent caused by the Peggies and their suicidal attempts to protect their Father. Pratt and Hudson are yelling from the pilots' seats, _mayday mayday mayday_ , and Whitehorse is holding on for dear life with the Marshal. Joseph Seed is the only one with any sense of serenity, and Rooks _hates_ him for it. Hates him like she hates the memory of her lungs being pierced by Peggie bullets and the taste of blood on her tongue.  
  
The helicopter crashes to the ground and Rook's neck twists the wrong way in the landing. It's quick, painless, and disappointing. Joseph shakes his head, says a quiet prayer, and steps from the wreckage to embrace his Children.  
  
The Deputy wakes up, her alarm blaring once more, and runs to the bathroom to empty her stomach. Her phone rings from her nightstand and she answers it, rubbing her neck and trying to get rid of the grit in her voice.  
  
_"Rook, it's Whitehorse. There's a US Marshal here with an arrest warrant for Seed. I keep tellin' him it's a bad idea -"_  
  
3)  
  
Rook's third death comes at the hands of Jacob. Or rather, under his watch.  
  
She's already been through his bullshit conditioning. Eli is dead, the Whitetails are in shambles, and Jacob is waiting for her at the top of the mountain, taunting her over the radio and calling her to him like some mutt.  
  
And she goes. She runs to him, obedient and eager.  
  
The Deputy cuts through the Peggies along the way with a fury she didn't know she had, her blood singing with every cultist cut down. Adrenaline flows through her veins like fire, and it's been some time since she was able to feel the burn in her legs, protesting further movement, but it's muted. Everything is.  
  
Especially the sting in her thigh as she reaches the top and Jacob shoots her with a pistol, dropping her to a kneeling position in front of him. Rook groans through the pain, drops her own weapon, and hangs her head. Her gut churns, and there's a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, a pull at her spine.  
  
"This is sad, Deputy, even for you." Jacob slings his rifle over his shoulder, holsters his pistol, and steps up to the Deputy, pressing the heel of his boot into wound he just made. Rook hisses through her teeth, but keep her head bowed and her fists clenched at her sides. "Where's all that fight? Where's that soldier that shot down Eli without hesitation?"  
  
Jacob twists his heel in deeper and it's all Rook can do to stay awake as her vision swims, her resolve buckling under the pain. Gritting her teeth, she looks up at him, gaze unwavering once they lock eyes.  
  
"There's no point, Jacob. I did it wrong."  
  
"You did a lot of things wrong, Dep, but Eli's execution wasn't one of them."  
  
"Not that." Rook swallows and looks down again before picking up her gun. "It's not that."  
  
She doesn't offer him any other explanation, nor a chance to knock the gun from her grip as she turns the barrel on herself and pulls the trigger. Copper and gunpowder stain her tongue, and she wakes up with their taste still coating her mouth, a half hour before her alarm is set to go off.  
  
The Deputy gets up, showers, brushes her teeth, and sits on the edge of her bed. Her phone is clutched in her hands and she answers it a half second after the first ring, already dressed and ready to travel to Joseph's compound. She hums Amazing Grace as she steps out of her apartment, and something clicks into place in Rook's head, not quite right, not quite ready for her to understand.  
  
4)  
  
The fourth time is just an accident, and frankly, it's downright embarrassing.  
  
She's taking her time tearing through Hope County, helping out those in need with small tasks here and there. Rook figures that rushing through her missions hasn't been helping at all, so maybe God will give her a little leeway if she does more good than harm. Maybe she'll wake up after a job well done after the Seeds are dead and their cult is in pieces if she does some community service, instead of waking up to her alarm and Rook, it's Whitehorse.  
  
So here she is, collecting bull testicles. Or trying to.  
  
The Deputy already shot the lock off of the cows' enclosure, now she's just waiting for them to start mating before she picks a poor target and shoots him down. There's a tractor going in the fields beyond the enclosure and she thinks it's a normal farmer going about their business until it's too late.  
  
There's a Peggie in the driver's seat.  
  
Rook doesn't realize this until the tractor's teeth are already tearing into her skin.  
  
Her alarm goes off. Her phone rings. So it goes.  
  
_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound..._  
  
5)  
  
The Deputy doesn't die. Not this time. Here at the end of all things, ( _of Hope County_ , at least, she thinks bitterly), Rook does not die. But Pratt does. Whitehorse does. Dutch, Hudson, the Ryes, Fall's End, the Whitetails, Faith, John, Jacob. She could list all of them if she really wanted to.  
  
But Rook does not die. Joseph does not die.  
  
Locked in Dutch's bunker together, they weather the beginning of the end, the walls and ground above them trembling with each bomb dropped. Joseph watches her with that unnerving gaze of his, eyes bare without his usual shades and circled with dark bruises from the second crash they've survived together. Rook counts it amongst the others, but Joseph doesn't know this. He doesn't know how many times she's locked the cuffs over his wrists or how many times she's led him to the helicopter, hand clamped tight over his shoulder as they waded through the crowds of Peggies.  
  
Rook's own wrists chafe against the cuffs he's locked her in, and the metal scrapes together as she repositions herself into a more comfortable spot. The ache in her legs is familiar, the tightness in her chest almost comforting at this point. She wants to laugh. To cry. To scream.  
  
She doesn't out of respect for the dead, Dutch's body still cooling next to her. Distantly, she wonders, what they're going to do with his body. There are only so many places you can put a rotting corpse in a bunker, after all, and she's not sure if Dutch had a walk-in freezer or not. Knowing her luck, the answer is probably no. They'll have to deal with the stench or get rid of the body somehow. Rook's mind flashes to Jacob and recalls his war stories. Joseph and her might have to reenact that, more out of convenience than pure necessity. A body can't rot if there's nothing left of it, after all.  
  
Reclining in Dutch's chair, Joseph begins to hum his usual tune. Rook lets him for a little bit, before she clears her throat and manages to speak, the smoke from outside making it difficult. She's not even sure how long it's been, to be quite honest, since they fled the burning island to the safety of the ground below.  
  
"What did I do wrong?"  
  
Joseph regards her quietly, eyes roaming over her face. Rook thinks he might actually ignore her question for a moment, and then he breaks the silence.  
  
"What do you mean, my child?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, his rosary dangling between. "Are you referring to your actions against my Children? Your rampage through my home? The deaths of my siblings at your hands?"  
  
It takes all she has left not to flinch against each accusation, but hot tears sting her eyes anyway. It's embarrassing, really, but she swallows around the urge to sob.  
  
"No." Her tongue feels like lead in her mouth. "No. I keep - I keep messing up. No matter what I do, no matter how it ends, _something_ goes wrong. I wake up, every time, on the morning of your arrest."  
  
Joseph slips from the chair and kneels before the Deputy, hands gentle as he tucks her hair behind her ears and cradles her face in his hands. His eyes, steady and locked with hers, show no hatred, no anger, only a tired acceptance of their future. The soft touch urges her on, tears falling freely. Joseph doesn't speak, only holds her with the tenderness of a loved one. He truly is her only Family now, and she his.  
  
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Rook takes in a shuddering breath, hands clenched. "I don't know what I'm supposed to _do_."  
  
"God will reveal his plan to you in time, my child. You must trust Him."  
  
"But-" Joseph silences her with his hand over her mouth.  
  
"In time. For now, sleep, regain your strength. There is much to do as we make steps to re-enter the new world, and you must be strong to weather the coming trials."  
  
He stands, and with one last look, Joseph leaves her be, grabbing Dutch's feet and dragging his body from the room and closing the door. Left with naught but dim light and cramping legs, Rook resigns herself to her fate and succumbs to her body's exhaustion. The darkness takes her like a kind lover.  
  
She wakes up.  
  
Her alarm goes off.  
  
Her phone rings.  
  
Rook cries. And cries. And cries until Whitehorse calls her again, a third time, a fourth, a fifth, before she finally answers the phone, already knowing what he has to say and what's expected of her.  
  
+1)  
  
The walk from the helicopter to the church at the end of the compound feels like it takes seven years. Pratt and Hudson keep shooting her worried looks, but Rook shakes them off. _Bad dream_ , she would tell him if they weren't in the middle of a fucking cult. When the Marshal and Sheriff open the double doors, she wants to run away, but Joseph's voice keeps her rooted to the spot. Pratt nudges her with his elbow and they walk in together, alert and focused. The cultists around them bristle as Joseph continues his sermon, foretelling the end and how it begins. Rook's eyes find John, Jacob, and Faith. Her heart aches at the sight of them. Joseph turns to them, the snakes in his garden, and she wants to weep.  
  
"...and Hell followed with him."  
  
Words are exchanged between Whitehorse and Burke. Rook ignores them. Ignores the cultists as they file out at Joseph's order, ignores the Marshal and Whitehorse. Ignores all the noise around them. She's seen this scene played out so many times before and she's tired.  
  
"Rook, cuff him."  
  
Joseph holds his wrists out to her. His eyes hold no recognition, no spark of memory of their short time in Dutch's bunker before she woke up again. John doesn't know her sin. Jacob hasn't trained her into the perfect soldier. Faith hasn't shown her the wonders of Bliss.  
  
_"Rook."_  
  
She unpins her badge, takes her gun, and hands them both to Whitehorse, who looks at her with surprise. She doesn't meet his gaze as she gently grabs Joseph's wrists, circling her fingers around his bare flesh, rubbing circles into his skin.  
  
"Sheriff," Rook begins, eyes on Joseph, on John, on Jacob, on Faith. "Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone."  
  
The Deputy brings Joseph's hands to her mouth to press a kiss against his skin, and she kneels at his altar. He takes back his hands only to cradle her head and smile down at her, carding his hands through her hair and caressing her cheek. Like a puzzle piece slipping into place, something clicks inside her. Something _right_ , something that makes her _whole_.  
  
Joseph begins to sing, and her voice joins with his.  
  
_"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me."_


End file.
